Reign of Terror
by jedimattk
Summary: Fleet Intelligence has received information that the Confederacy is massing an enormous attack force in the Si'Klaata Cluster. Such a fleet running rampant along the Perlemian Trade Route would be disastrous, so the Republic sends its best admiral ahead.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: _No, I don't own Star Wars. If I did, I would be lounging around in sunny California with a fancy drink in one hand and my notebook in the other, writing a canon SW novel. Instead, I'm working on this fanfic, featuring a Bothan admiral of the Old Republic fleet (who was absolutely not influenced in any way by Thrawn). Go on, read and review!_

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Admiral Krey'lan stood implacably at the forward viewport, hands clasped at the small of his back. Around him, the bridge crew of the Republic Destroyer _Farfalla _worked in relative silence, accustomed to their captain's quirks. He was no Jedi, but he more than made up for his lack of Force-sensitivity with his natural Bothan prey-sensitivity. Krey'lan had an uncanny knack for thinking like the enemy, knowing precisely where they would be and what they would be.

"Lieutenant Scralen," the admiral purred across the bridge, deep voice effortlessly audible without his so much as turning around. "Where does this route leave hyperspace?"

The _Farfalla_'s flag officer turned his eyes up to Krey'lan without lifting his head from the console, giving him a false air of disapproval. "Warping just outside orbit on Klatooine, sir. Night side. I can get precise coordinates if you need them."

"Do so." Some commanders might have been shocked by Scralen's seeming irreverence, but Krey'lan knew it stemmed from great devotion to duty rather than a rebellious nature.

"Warp completes in ten," the navigation officer announced. "Nine. Eight."

Krey'lan's commands console chimed, and finally he turned away from the view of hyperspace, fur rippling in meditative thoughtfulness as he contemplatedd the screen. "Helm, prepare to divert power to aft engines. Rotate to 210-point."

"Five. Four."

"Charge long-range ion cannons. Fire on my mark."

"One."

The _Farfalla _shuddered beneath Krey'lan's feet as it emerged from hyperspace, the dying desert world of Klatooine looming to port.

"Mark."

With complete, silent efficiency, the collosal Destroyer began to rotate toward the planet. Krey'lan felt the welcome hum of the fore ion cannons charging, spitting through a ten-second sweep before the sip even completed its turn.

"Hostiles detected, admiral," Lieutenant Scralen called. "Two Picket-class battleships, a Thranta-class armed frigate, and three wings of mixed starfighters. All of them are broadcasting Confederation ID."

"Damage report?" he asked calmly.

"Err … multiple fighters and one picket ship reporting damage. Non-critical, but their shields are beaten." Scralen paused, pressing one finger to his earpiece. "We surprised them, sir. The frigate is open to vacuum. Fire control requesting permission to engage."

"Declined," Krey'lan told him immediately. "Long-range ion blasts only. Target weapons blisters on the battleships."

The flag officer's mouth compressed just perceptibly, this time in true disapproval, but he was disciplined enough to relay the order without question.

"Fighters incoming!" Ensign Shaum, the sensor officer, barked. "Seven M1 Scythes at sector 49-3, vector Alderaan-Alderaan-Lime."

"Mark 1?" Kreylan's small fangs bared in a small, vicious smile. "The Separatists out here must be stretched quite thin. Let them come, ensign."

Shaum blinked disbelievingly. "They may be old tech, sir, but those Scythes are more than capable of a strafing run. They could critically damage our—"

Lieutenant Scralen cut him off with a harsh glance. "The admiral knows what he's doing, ensign. Relay the orders."

Quelled, Shaum returned to his console. "Fighters will hit in T minus forty seconds, sir."

"Excellent. Lieutenant Scralen, you may now engage. Concentrate our fire on the frigate."

The long-range turbolasers opened up all at once, raining fire down on the already heavily-damaged ship. Lacking shields and a large portion of hull, it fragmented almost immediately, sending white-hot shrapnel flying in all directions. The starfighter wings still clustered around the frigate were too slow to escape the explosion; they were tossed aside by the shock wave, formations devastated as countless Scythes exploded into nothing.

A moment later, Shaum turned back to Krey'lan with something close to awe in his eyes. "Starfighters breaking off, sir!"

The admiral had good grace enough not to press the matter in the middle of a battle. Instead, he stepped forward to stand beside Scralen, tapping the system map with one finger. "They will rendezvous here, in an attempt to protect their commanding officers on the battleships. These Nikto are quite predictable."

"Indeed, sir," the flag officer replied with a tight smile of his own. "Fire control, starfighters will be making a last stand at sector 61-5. Long-range turbolasers, thirty-second sweep."

And thirty seconds later, it was done. M1 Scythes, while fast, were nowhere near swift enough to evade the _Farfalla_'s tracking assault; the picket ships could lay down only marginal covering fire with half their systems disabled, and before they could rotate far enough to target with their remaining heavy weaponry, the _Farfalla _had blown them apart.

Admiral Krey'lan settled back into his command chair, his fur still smooth. The battle had not rattled him in the slightest. "All systems, stand down. Fire control, stay alert, all weapons stand by. Now … we wait."


	2. Chapter 2

It was nearly two standard days more before the full attack force assembled. Over one hundred Republic ships had taken up temporary positions around the edges of the Si'Klaata Cluster, conquering the defence forces around the minor planets and laying down comm nets to dampen all communications with Kintan. If the Nikto homeworld found the silence telling, they didn't show it; the Republic attack force went largely unmolested as it silently took control of all six outlying worlds.

Beshqek Scalpel, as it had been codenamed, was the largest single attack force assembled since the Clone Wars began. That much firepower alone made it a force to be reckoned with; putting Krey'lan in charge of it made the fleet all but unstoppable.

And at 2100 hours that day, it moved to fulfill its purpose.

"Open a channel to all ships, lieutenant," Krey'lan said quietly from the command bridge of the _Farfalla._ "We jump to Kintan in three waves. First wave, forty capital ships. Then twelve of our most powerful warships, followed by twenty-eight more. The rest will remain in reserve."

Lieutenant Scralen nodded, already keying rapidly at his console to relay the orders. "Which wave will we be leaving with, sir?"

"The first, naturally," said the admiral, and the atmosphere around the bridge seemed to relax. Krey'lan believed in leading from the front, and the prospect of being with him on the front lines was somehow reassuring.

"Helm, prepare to microwarp on my mark. Three … two … one … mark."

The _Farfalla _began to move ponderously forward from the impressive collection of hardware that had gathered around Klatooine after the past few days. As soon as they were far enough away, the destroyer flitted into hyperspace – and almost instantly dropped out again.

"Steady!" Krey'lan's deep voice was calm. "Shields forward and starboard to maximum power. Fire control, stand ready with long-range turbolasers."

"Priority one message from the surface, admiral," Shaum reported with an edge of panic again present in his voice. "They demand to know why we're here, and insist that we power down until an agreement can be reached."

"Patch it through, ensign." Admiral Krey'lan, cool and collected as ever, flicked on his comlink. His fur rippled back with pained distaste as a guttural voice speaking Huttese spat from the device.

"_Farfalla_, this is Vosh Anjiliac Aggara, representing the Hutt Clan of the Ancients. Why do you attempt to threaten our peaceful world? Leave Kintan space now, or submit to boarding. And I assure you a Nikto boarding will not be an experience you wish to repeat."

"Alcaidia, this is Admiral Krey'lan of the Republic Third Fleet," he interrupted her. "Hailing to offer terms of surrender."

Scralen looked up at that, alarmed, but Krey'lan waved him away.

"Republic destroyer _Farfalla,_ we have nothing to discuss. If you will not leave-"

"Ah, you misunderstand me," Krey'lan said pleasantly. "I'm offering _you_ a chance at surrender."

There was a long silence. Finally, Admiral Krey'lan clicked the comlink off, apparently satisfied. "That's that settled, then. Fire control, prepare to engage on my mark, two-minute sweep, concentrating on the two outermost defense stations."

And with near-perfect dramatic timing, the other one hundred ninety-nine destroyers of the first wave warped in. They were arrayed in a classic Baraka offensive structure, positioned perfectly to open fire on the line of moon-like orbital defense stations opposite them. If their pinpoint-perfect arrival hadn't shaken the Nikto and their Hutt overlords, what they were about to do surely would.

"Mark."

Following Krey'lan's lead, the other destroyers immediately opened fire as well, creating a veritable firestorm at either end of the stations' line. Kintan's first line of defense was good, but no single station was built to deal with a barrage of this magnitude, and both had begun to collapse well before the sweep was over.

"Excellent," Krey'lan grinned. "All ships, scatter. Continue firing at will on the remaining stations for as long as possible."

Kintan had begun to dispatch fighters, early-model Scythes mostly, but it would be too long before they could send out anything large enough to pose a significant threat to the Republic sips. At any rate, the first wave would soon be spread out all around the planet.

"Second wave inbound, ETA fifteen seconds," the _Farfalla_'s flag officer reported moments later.

The next wave came out of hyperspace already firing, a sweep of overpowered proton torpedoes crisscrossing blue ion trails. The defence stations were all too vulnerable, with most of their complement of Scythes already chasing the first wave; 96 torpedoes detonated at either end of the line, and both outermost stations vanished in a cloud of flame and shrapnel. But Krey'lan's strategy went far beyond that; with all the inevitability of nuclear holocaust, the other stations began to implode one by one, a deadly chain reaction.

"Good work, men," Krey'lan said crisply. "Split into two main groups and advance on the main planet, Barakan pincer. Lieutenant, how long until the arrival of the third wave?"

"ETA two minutes, sir. Captains Silvar and Marten requesting fire vectors."

The admiral paused, considered. "No, we don't fire on the shield – not yet. Get me the status of _Corusca Rainbow._"

"One moment, sir," Lieutenant Scralen pulled up the necessary information on his board. "The frigate is undamaged, sir. It's hanging back with the second wave, approaching Kintan on the night side."

"Belay that, lieutenant. Get me a line to the captain of the _Rainbow._"

Krey'lan thumbed his comlink on. After a moment, a deep, cultured voice said, "Admiral, this is Agent Irmenu of the _Corusca Rainbow._What are our orders?"

The Bothan's fur rolled back in is race's equivalent of a double take. "Agent? Do you have a superior officer I could speak to?"

"Sir, this is a Clone Intelligence infiltration ship. Our crew consists of three agents, of whom I'm the most senior, and an espionage computer. Unless you want to speak with the latter, I'm your man."

"Ah," said Krey'lan, rallying well. "Well, then, agent, I have a … mission for you."

* * *

"Gantes!" General Coradaan growled, striding purposefully across the command room. "Tell me what in the galaxy is going on up there, and it had better be good!"

The temporary Confederacy base on Kintan was in total disarray. The arrival of the Republic ship had been totally unexpected, and the subsequent arrival of its fleet doubly so. The fact that they actually destroyed Kintan's orbital defences – and so quickly! so easily! – was all but unbelievable.

"Sir, five of our defence stations are completely destroyed, and the rest have suffered critical damage," Lieutenant Gantes reported, looking flustered. "They're venting atmosphere, sir – the crews must be dead or dying."

"What's the status of the orbital yard?" Coradaan snapped.

"Largely undamaged, but it's impossible to launch the fleet there without the defence stations."

"What about our picket forces? Klatooine, Vontor, Tos-Lan – get me the line commanders!"

"No use, sir, they're presumed destroyed," Coradaan sighed heavily. "None have reported back for days."

The general swore loudly. "What kind of game does Dooku think he's playing at? Our backups don't report for days, and he conveniently forgets to inform us?" He shook his head, swore again. "Doesn't matter – the closest force now is our home fleet in Hutt Space, and they couldn't be here till evening anyhow. We have to lower the shield."

His subordinate blinked. "General, have you seen the size of that fleet? They'll pound Kintan to dust the moment we drop our guard."

"It's our best chance, lieutenant." He reached past her, slamming the comm board with one meaty palm. "All groundside ships at full alert. Ground-to-space weapons, prime for battle. This is General Coradaan, authorization Red-87 Sycophant. Repeating…"

Beside him, Lieutenant Gantes suddenly stiffened, sitting straight up in her chair. He paused to glance at her questioningly.

"It's Dooku, sir!" she exclaimed. "He's sent a courier bearing the Confederacy flag. He says the fleet will be here in under ten minutes!"

General Coradaan's lips tightened. "You're sure it's Separatist?"

"They're broadcasting Confederacy Home Fleet identicodes, their sip is of Confederate make – hells, sir, they're burning Serenno fuel. They're legit, sir, there's no doubt about it."

For the first time, Coradaan allowed himself a small smile. "Then perhaps we truly are saved. Lower the shield, lieutenant. Give him a five-second window to jump through and land in the canyon."

"These Republic dogs won't know what hit them."

* * *

"That Alcaidian scum won't know what hit them," Clone Intelligence Agent Irmenu said with a satisfied sigh.

"They're letting us in, sir?" his fellow agent, Marr, allowed some slight disbelief to seep through his professional demeanor.

"Fell for it hook, line, and sinker," Irmenu gloated. "That Bothan really is a genius, you know. Oldest trick in the book – get your enemy desperate, then pretend to offer help and stab 'em in the back. But we're really pulling it off!"

"What do you expect from a race whose main export is political intrigue?" Marr sniggered, but broke off as the comm crackled back to life.

"Courier _Springhawk_, you have a five-second window to get through the planetary shield. Land directly outside the Confederate base in the Canyon of Despair, coordinates transmitting now. Copy?"

"We copy, Kintan," Irmenu replied, falling easily back into that cold upper-crust Serreno accent. The _Corusca Rainbow _ship began to move forward, trying to drift casually toward the planet – as though they were really trying to go unnoticed by the Republic ships.

Silently, almost on their tails, the three Jedi StealthX's cut a swath through space. The stealth fighters were undetectable by any sensor and practically invisible to the naked eye, but Irmenu knew they would be there.

If Kintan thought it was scared now, with huge fleets dropping out of nowhere and smashing their defense stations in five minutes flat, it was nothing compared to how they'd feel when their city started blowing to bits around them – and whatever was doing the damage couldn't even be seen.


End file.
